


Extracts from the diary of Julius Nicholson

by morred



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morred/pseuds/morred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extracts from the personal and confidential diary of Julius Nicholson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guide to abbreviations  
> rp - rather pleasing  
> sd - somewhat disappointing  
> sl - sad lapse  
> dt - disquieting thoughts (content usually unspecified, though the reader would probably be safe to assume most involve Malcolm Tucker).

**_April 6th 2010_**  
 **  
Dt - too many. Sl.  
Gym - rp  
Biscuits - DO ginger and candied lemon, 4 (to deal with dt). Another sl.  
New strategies/policies - 4. Rp.  
**  
  
The election has been called (HM, as always, graciously acquiescing to PM's request to dissolve Parliament). Excitement threatening to reach _fever pitch_ at Westminster.  
  
Poor Malcolm; one does wonder whether the extra stress is quite _good for him_ , though he does appear to _thrive_ on it. (Note: ensure, without nagging, that the man _eats_ between now and May 6th). And, as he pointed out himself today, these final stages of a campaign are best suited to his _protege_ 's talents - MT feels his work has been done during the mise en scene. Though naturally it is his lowering presence that helps keep everyone in line. We must all fervently hope young James's talents are only unleashed under the strict supervision of his master (not - oh dear, that does make James sound feral).  
  
All now anxious about funding (elections so frightfully _expensive_ \- all those posters and battle omnibus (Malcolm was rather _combative_ when I pointed out the right plural: 3rd dec. ablative). Champagne reception this evening with some donors (past, present and potential future). MT utterly _unscrupulous_ about ethics of donation, provided no proof can ever reach papers. Rather low remark this evening that he didn't care if they're donors "in the f~ing Alderhey sense" as long as the Party has the necessary funds. (Note: remark recorded solely as reminder to self that MT can be a truly NB with a nasty mind ~~no matter how well he wears black tie~~.)  
  
  
 ** _April 10th_  
  
Dt - Hardly any. Rp  
Gym - Day of rest  
Biscuits - Petit fours following lunch; Sam's mother's shortbread (1 small slice), 2 rich tea (disappointing). Sl.  
New strategies/policies - 1. Rp (fewer needed now election gearing up)  
**  
  
Lunch with Quintin today. Dear fellow amusing as always (astounding how lunch with schoolfellows either makes one feel five years younger or twenty older - thankfully Quintin is one of the former type). Kept safely to matters non-political (though Quintin had brief spell of his usual twitting - the boy is the most _revolting_ apathetic pragmatist).  
  
Q related an interesting rumour ('rumour' to be confirmed tomorrow, one understands) that JB's wife may be expecting again.  
  
One does so _hate_ to listen to gossip (even over a rather delightful fillet of lemon sole _en papillote_ followed by a frankly _indecent_ delice of fools - gooseberry, raspberry and raspberry; _delice of fools_ wd make a rather amusing title for a book, wouldn't it?). Anyway, I ramble on. Should the rumour prove true, I will wish JB and his wife all happiness.(Note: flowers? Perhaps not quite done during an election... and JB might not appreciate- not quite _brought up_ to expect such gestures, though he should have picked it up at school).  
  
Still, I cannot help but wonder whether that rather _pokey_ flat above the office is really quite the thing for a growing family. Nor how JB will cope with his numerous duties if, as I expect and hope he will, he follows the (admirable) modern practice of taking paternity leave and being a "hands-on dad" as the expression has it. Such an improvement on our fusty generation, where fathers were little more than a stern figure in the study. Not to mention all the _unpleasantness_ when poor Quintin was in the Lower Fifth. Could cheerfully have wrung his father's neck myself. And then one thinks of Douglas's relationship with _his_ father...   
  
Must remind self that youthful experiences of my set and self are hardly _representative_. I was, as MT so memorably put it, born with a silver spoon inserted in my behind.  
  
[I do strive for accuracy in this journal - which will remain private for my lifetime at least. So perhaps I should record that what Malcolm in fact said was that I had been born with a silver spoon up my a~e, which no doubt only got removed when I arrived at Eton and the prefects wanted to indulge in some competitive buggery. It is perhaps kinder that I not recall the whole remark. After all, Malcolm meant no harm and has said _far worse_ to others (even people he _likes_ ). And it's not as though he could possibly have _known_.]  
  
To return to the subject at hand, however admirable "hs.o" fathering might be, it does leave scarce time for running the country. I fully expect Malcolm and his team to be _scathing_. (Note: make attempt to temper MT's retaliation. He can be somewhat _odd_ on family matters).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guide to abbreviations  
> rp - rather pleasing  
> sd - somewhat disappointing  
> sl - sad lapse  
> dt - disquieting thoughts (content usually unspecified, though the reader would probably be safe to assume most involve Malcolm Tucker).

**_April 24th 2010_**  
 **  
Dt - Few, rp  
Gym - overtaken by events, sl  
Biscuits - Very few (2 bourbons), rp.   
New strategies/policies - 0, sl.  
**  
  
  
  
The xanthic surge continues apace. Malcolm suspects (an opinion I share) that this might play well: with a fair wind and a following sea, they might yet vanquish the Tories for us. I did venture to _suggest_ to Malcolm that perhaps, should the _unthinkable_ occur, the Liberal Democrats are at least progressive. Even (whisper it softly) more progressive than us.  
  
Malcolm, as I should have foreseen, did not take to this too well.  
  
Nick is, unlike JB, rather a decent chap (one hates to _generalise_ , but I've never met an old Westminster I didn't like) - of course I knew him and his lovely wife in Brussels. I do hope the Tory press isn't too too _vile_ to them - they are the just the European cosmopolitan elite such rags love to despise.   
  
_Operation: feed and caring of Tucker, M_ is a notable success. A simple expedient of ensuring all strategy discussions are scheduled over standard meal times, thus allowing sustenance to be provided by myself, seems to have sufficed. He will eat if it's in front of him, I have found.   
  
Dear Sam has (of her own initiative - she really is _very_ good) swapped skinny for full fat in all of Malcolm's food and drink choices. As Sam has not been found with her head on a spike, or buried at the unhallowed crossroads, one can assume that Malcolm remains unaware of the dietary changes.  
  
He isn't sleeping of course (not- well, this diary - however edited - will be aware that I am not privy to Malcolm's sleeping habits). No doubt Malcolm can, as he says, sleep when he's fucking deid [quaere: should one attempt a phonetic rendition of Malcolm's Caledonian intonation? One fears that it borders on the racist...].  
  
But lack of sleep does result in a lack of clarity and focus. I shall recommend chamomile tea. 'Early to bed and early to rise' does not, actually, mean bed at 4am and rising at 6am is a _healthy strategy_.  
  
Malcolm and I are much _thrown together_ during this campaign. Some bright spark (I suspect Johnson in the Cabinet Office - he has always had rather a _vendetta_ ) thought it would be amusing (they all said 'useful' and 'insightful' but I am not such a fool as to believe them) for me to roleplay (as I believe the young people call it) as JB during our preparation for the live televisual debates.  
  
I think my impersonation owes more to JB as I remember him as a 15 year-old oik than to his present-day "statemanslike" posturing, but Malcolm was pleased.  
  
(Malcolm, of course, is never less than himself during these sessions - though he switches between being the 'presenter' and the 'public'. I admit I'd be most _surprised_ if the 'public' really do flick pilau rice at Tom during the screenings while calling him a fucking lying bastard MP c~t, though I fear that the _mood_ will be all too similar.)  
  
I understand that the public are not to be permitted to speak save to ask their pre-prepared questions. Truly a victory for democracy. (Though one can't help observe that the problem with democracy is that so many people are _wrong_ and resistant to _change_ or _education_ of any sort.)  
  
Malcolm was kind enough to say I mastered my arguments rather better, and sneered rather less, than the real JB - though he made great play of pretending I was wearing a top hat. (As though one _would_ wear a topper for such an occasion. Even JB wouldn't.)  
  
It was all - as I find this political maelstorm all too often is - rather reminiscent of _school_. I was considered, in my time, a rather fine actor. I think few will forget my Ophelia, nor my seminal Pooh-Bah in the Lower Fifth's Mikado.  
  
Of course, the great excitement personally this week has been my appearance before the great beast Paxman.   
  
(Malcolm actually ate three sweet-and-sour pork balls, six forkfuls of king prawn chow mein, two spring rolls, two slices of prawn toast and several prawn crackers during our preparation - a definite win for the eating campaign.)  
  
It was thought that as the architect of the manifesto (though NOT the designer - that sunburst is _frightful_ , however much one _understands_ the need for primary colours wherever possible) I should elucidate Jeremy on some of the finer points of policy and the strategic direction of the Party.   
  
I also suspect that they are anxious to _reassure_ the public that there are people in the Party who are not Tom nor Cabinet Members nor Trades Unionists. A little cultured and civilised conversation can go a long way.  
  
Malcolm of course _revels_ in any and every opportunity to be 'Paxo'. Unfortunately, he did use it as free licence to address issues he usually (strangely for Malcolm) leaves unraised between us. I was able to use some good lines about why I "wasn't with the rest of the OE upperclass c~tweasels in the fucking Bullingdon Tory Club Master-race" and my financial status.  
  
(Unlike some we could mention - Lord Ashcroft, for example) I have always regarded it as a _patriotic duty_ to pay taxes. It is, perhaps, hardly dying in the trenches pro gloria patria, or serving abroad as does my cousin Douglas, but nevertheless.  
  
Malcolm is, naturally, anxious to row back on the 'intensely relaxed about people becoming filthy rich' line but as it was said and there is video evidence of us saying it, there is not much getting round it. Our only hope (which I did use to _good effect_ with Jeremy) is to emphasise that we went on to say that the rich MUST pay taxes, and suggest that JB and his cronies are totally unconcerned about people BECOMING filthy rich, as they have _always_ been rich and regard working for one's money as rather infra. dig.  
  
(Jeremy did accuse me of growing up with a trust fund, which I felt rather _poor form_. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my parents - besides, the fund is based onshore with full tax paid, and I use it to support various charities. I've paid my own way since I was rather lucky in my first year with ~ and awarded a rather _large_ bonus.)  
  
In the event, Jeremy was far more affable than Malcolm (and of course, we do know each other _outside_ of politics) - the feint, flash and parry of rapier-fencing between friends, rather than Malcolm's tactic of ramming a claymore up one's behind until one begs for mercy.  
  
I had to downplay Malcolm's general importance in the campaign to Jeremy, which I confess was rather _fun_. M seemed pleased with the end result- though he did feel the need to warn me that if he thought for one second I believed any of what I'd said he'd do something very unpleasant indeed.  
  
 _The Guardian_ records this morning that I am an electoral asset, which is naturally pleasing to hear.  
  
There is, sadly, very little outside of politics at present. Friends in London are rather bored by the spectacle now, and I am naturally unable to make firm commitments as crises do raise their ugly heads at the most _odd_ times. Douglas - usually a voice of sanity during election campaigns - is at the UN (and, the naughty bastard, threatening to vote Lib Dem because Nick is, to quote him, ' _dishy_ '. I despair. Douglas always has had the most unsuitable taste... I suspect, from his emails, that there is someone- but he must live his own life. I have no right to weigh in on the subject.)  
  
There was an unpleasant incident at work where I was forced to 'out' myself yet again during a short _remonstration_ with some of the younger campaigners (they seem to breed when one's not looking - cross fertilisation on their blogs and their twitter and so forth, no doubt - they are frightfully keen and of course the youth are our future, but- Dear God sometimes one can't help but be depressed. And I do _wish_ we had some more... represenative youngsters. I am hardly one to talk, but we are in danger of being _overrun_ by Joshes and Jocastas whose parents write for the _Guardian_ and believe themselves socialists because they pay their staff the minimum wage).  
  
To return to the subject at hand, they were ascribing the failure of the coffee machine to produce the caffeinated beverage their choice to its "epic gayness" - apparently everything in the campaign HQ is "total gay shite", or "retarded gay crap".  
  
(From context, I believe "epic gayness" to be similar to the "epic fail" which affects their computers on occasion).   
  
Unfortunately (for them) they passed these remarks in hearing of Malcolm who (for all his _bluster_ ) can be surprisingly _good_ on these kinds o. Or perhaps he merely enjoys an excuse to _shout_.   
  
He kindly (ie without amputation of limbs) explained that he himself was **not** gay*, but he couldn't produce cappucino out his f~ing arse either, so perhaps the coffee machine's inability failure to work wasn't _entirely_ due to its f~king sexual orientation.  
  
(* which- far be it for me to question the _gender_ or _orientation_ labels anyone wishes to present or use to self-describe, but- well)  
  
I weighed in at this stage to point out that I was, as one might say, 'epically gay' and I was perfectly capable of making coffee. ('Retard' is also rather _unfortunate_ , but perhaps it's best to concentrate on one _slur_ per day as we travel onwards into the sunlit uplands of acceptance and tolerance.)  
  
Malcolm rather spoilt his brave anti-bigotry stance by calling Tom a massive gay f-kface, but perhaps one can make exceptions for joshing among friends.  
  
(This incident has, naturally, bred a series of whispers in this heated greenhouse of a campaign HQ, wherein even the tiniest seed can flourish into a veritable orchid of rumour, that there is something between Malcolm and myself. Let it be recorded here that I first became aware of the suggestion when young James stopped talking to me for two day, before attempting to crowd me against a wall and _harangue_ me for several minutes about how Malcolm didnae need distracting from his fucking election campaign by a mincing queerbag trying to stick his cock up Malcolm's emaciated arse. I did wonder, fleetingly, what he would have done had I claimed that in fact Malcolm had been making _overtures_ toward me. But it's cruel to bait people in these matters.   
  
And, on a purely _prurient_ note, very interesting to note that James _naturally assumed_ it would be me- _assuming the more dominant role_. One to ponder. Or, perhaps, best not.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guide to abbreviations  
> rp - rather pleasing  
> sd - somewhat disappointing  
> sl - sad lapse  
> dt - disquieting thoughts (content usually unspecified, though the reader would probably be safe to assume most involve Malcolm Tucker).

**May 12th**  
  
Marking one's own failings seems almost redundant after the voters have comprehensively shown their lack of appreciation. From the moment Jeremy started braying about the exit polls (so rarely, despite the line one has to hold, inaccurate) and crowing on air (and then asking one to respond - it's hardly _fair_ ) I felt that it was perhaps our time - and, I will admit here as I will not elsewhere, one can hardly _blame_ the voters. Tom is- well. And we hardly delivered on our promises - despite the very best efforts of many of us. The results are not yet fully in, but I suspect some form of coalition.   
  
(later) A coalition it is - with, one can only hope, those optimist, progressive, bright-eyed Liberal Democrats (note: despite his rantings, Malcolm is _right_ and we must make every effort to prevent older and more trad. members of our Party referring to 'the Liberals' as though this were the 1800s) restrain the worst elements of the Tories. They have asked me to make overtures to Nick and his team about a possible progressive coalition. One does not give in to despair, naturally, but Tom _surely_ has to step down and we are in no position to bargain, leaderless and without a mandate.  
  
(updated later) Tom has stepped down. A fine man, tried too far (and led by his ambition). Malcolm can barely hide his relief.  
  
We are clearing out our offices today. Very hard to escape that sickening feeling of coming down at the end of term. Knowing next year this study, this room, this desk will be someone else's. Everything decays. Silly old fool that I am, I must admit a succombed to a wave of elegaic melancholia. I must remember that we did _fine_ things, while we were in power. And will _continue_ to do so.  
  
Malcolm was almost unbearable to watch today. He was standing in the midst of his war room while his team removed their things and his hand-picked IT genius began to wipe all the information from what PCs we're leaving. Earlier, he was gazing at the wreckage, snarling defiance and threatening to mine his desk so the first Tory f~cker to touch it "lost his favourite lily-white wanking hand", but he's quiet now, even more frightening. The civil servants can't quite hide their glee. Sam's bringing coffee - she's resigned her post and taken up a position as Malcolm's _personal_ PA. Going down with the ship, she said, which prompted a rather _unnecessary_ remark/warning from James that as long as that was _all_ she was going down on-  
  
I think I was the last (or almost the last) person to see Malcolm on the night itself. Briefing to the last ( _the band fucking plays on_ , he screamed at anyone who dared suggest a break). I would have taken him home myself - knocked him out if necessary, but James was there (and everywhere, it seemed) shouting enough that no one noticed how quiet Malcolm became. One would ask whence he gets his energy, but it's clearly a potent mix of diet coke, mars bars and devotion.  
  
I feel sure they left together. Separate cars this morning, coming from apparently different directions, but Malcolm smells of James's shower gel and I find it highly unlikely that Malcolm would _buy_ such a thing for himself. James is standing guard in Malcolm's office today, very much like an animal at bay protecting her cubs. Malcolm is _f~cking busy,_ apparently, though from what I've seen he's doing not much beyond staring in space.   
  
I snatched a few words, to discuss coalition strategy (if I _am_ to lead a negotiation team, I will give it my best effort, hopeless though it might be) and perhaps to give him the chance to shout at someone friendly for a while. Rather half-hearted jibes about the _natural order_ restoring itself and how pleased I should be to see my natural ruling class back at the f~cking helm aside - I don't think his heart was in it. He should take the opportunity for a rest, but he won't. He's just waiting for a Cabinet to be announced (jumping the gun, rather, I would suggest - wait for a _government_ to be announced first) before he decides which of his secret dossiers of spin should be unleashed.   
  
Dan Miller's snooping around, being conspicuously helpful. Bright young thing, as always. I can see the cogs whirring in Malcolm's head whenever he spots him.  
  
 **May 13th**  
Dt - Several. Some personal, some political.  
Gym - rp  
Biscuits - Better than last few days. Negotiation does require rather a _large_ number of biscuits  
New strategies/policies - category in abeyance for the moment  
  
Talks have failed. Nick and JB have settled what trifling differences they have and formed a coalition. O brave new world, that has such politicians in it. Even I feel a disloyal stirring of hope. Progressive, compassionate liberalism has much to be said for it. If, which I greatly doubt, that is what we will _have_.  
  
Personally, despite the increasingly emetic sycophancy of the press (the king is dead, long live the princes) my mind suggests Yeats more than Shakespeare. A rough, two-headed beast slouching towards Westminster. Albeit a rough beast with bespoke suits and telegenic skin.  
  
Saw Malcolm for lunch today. Sushi, at his request (vile stuff) and even so he barely ate. Rather blank behind the eyes. Had to restrain self from hugging him (the man's cheekbones would _cut_ though. I hope James feeds him). I have every faith that he will do as he says and regroup. There is to be a leadership election, of course. He deserves a rest, to clear his mind as much as anything. The fate of the Party rests in his hands, as I told him. I have every faith that whichever candidate receives his support will triumph. Having surveyed the field, I think it has to be Miller, D. Said as much to Malcolm - after all "Policy Wank" as he so kindly terms it is my province more than his. I turned the conversation to James, shortly afterwards. Apparently his eldest spent a current affairs lesson at school being filled with pro-coalition propaganda. No doubt she receives a necessary corrective at home. It really is quite _touching_ the way Malcolm softens at the mention of those girls. I advised him _not_ to tell the youngest that JB's daughter has a _pony_. I don't think James nor Malcolm could cope with a young Tory on their hands.  
  
  
 **May 14th  
** Dt - Numerous. Sl  
Gym - rest day today  
Biscuits - Rich tea only. Rp  
New strategies/policies - category in abeyance. Possibility of reinstation of category brighter today though. The coalition have asked me to advise on policy, with specific reference to social affairs. This is, I hardly need to note, a difficult decision. I would not be tied to any party, nor to the government, but act rather as a one-man think tank. And, gpd knows, if they are left to themselves who knows what horrors might unfold. Their equality minister, for example. I know I am not exactly a _find_ in terms of diversity box-ticking, but I at least have a demonstrable _belief_ in equality.   
  
Still, the decision distracts the mind from D, who is in _Greece_. What is it about the boy that even on the safe postings he appears to attract mayhem. Born to trouble, his mother used to say. Though in her case she seems to have done her level best to make that a self-fulfilling prophecy. Still, the sparks fly upwards in Greece and rather than taking a diplomatic mission to look at lissome tanned youths on some safe island, Douglas seems to have decided it's his duty to remain in Athens and help the government there. No doubt he is _safe_ but- well.  One worries, naturally.   
  
Not that I'd _prefer_ him to be gazing at youths on the beach. I'd like-  
  
(later) On reflection, I have accepted the invitation from the government. It is to be a wholly unofficial position and I am to be bound by no allegiance save that I owe to my Party and that House of which I am privileged to be a member. Malcolm heard immediately - it is almost a relief to find his information network is as all-encompassing as ever. He was, to my complete surprise, _pleased_. It transpires that he now sees me as his informant inside enemy camp. It is immoral and childish, but one can't deny a certain frisson of excitement. And as I told Malcolm, better progressive policies are enacted through the workings of our enemies than that they aren't enacted at all.  
  
Dinner with Hugo tonight. Everything seems flat after the excitement of the next few weeks.  
  
  
 **15th May**  
Dt - Numerous and increasing. Sl  
Gym - rp (5km row, 5km run, 5km row. Designed new programme.)  
Biscuits - two garibaldi. One Duchy orange zest. Rp  
New strategies/policies - awaiting meeting with Home Secretary.  
  
Dan Miller's brother has thrown his hat into the ring. Three people today have asked if I'm standing. Colour seems to have returned to Malcolm's cheeks - nothing like a good scrap to cheer him up. Particularly a scrap that must be carefully scripted and edited to appear to everyone (ie the press) as a gentlemanly and fair contest. Of course, it _should_ be a gentlemany (or _courteous_ , I would prefer as a more inclusive term - particularly if any women should stand) contest, but despite what people may say I am not wholly naive.   
  
I suppose Malcolm brought us back from the dead once before- and as he put it (so very _Malcolm_ , always) at least this time the corpse is still twitching.   
  
Fleming has written an article for the _Guardian_ claiming it was Malcolm who lost the election. Or rather 'the nasty and increasingly self-serving culture of spin, divorced from reality and unable even to perform its primary function. Like a tumble dryer with a broken spin cycle.' Nasty little man. Someone should advise him to increase his security detail. It can only be a matter of time before young James reads the article. (I must say that although I _abhore_ Malcolm's unnecessary and violent metaphors, there was something very satisfying the time he told Fleming he was handing him over the press, who would f~ck him so hard they got moustache-burn on their collective c~ck.  It was _very, very wrong_ of Malcolm to say it).  
  
I have traded on the Guardian's fondness for Malcolm and - though I say it who shouldn't - myself, to demand right of reply. Not, of course, on behalf of Malcolm or the other spinners. But on behalf of the Party, who deserve more than to have their (narrow) defeat blamed on the kind of spin that we long ago put behind us. I shall, of course, have to mention one or two of the most egregious and unpleasant outbreaks of nastiness within the Party in its early days, just to emphasise how far we have come. Perhaps Fleming leaving his wife for his children's nanny (whose salary, house _and_ travel expenses he was claiming on expenses) might be one such example. I shall see if Malcolm has more.   
  
D is coming back from Greece on 18th. He sounds rather _shaken_ , though hid it well. Wants me to introduce him to Nick. Malcolm would says that there's more than one way to bring down a government, but I have no wish to see D embroiled in that sort of scenario. And, I hope, D was joking. He wants to stay with me, which is sure sign of a bad trip. He _does_ have his own flat -ghastly dingy place.


End file.
